


a heart, opening wide

by furiosity



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Flirting, Hero Worship, M/M, Massage, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 09:33:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8974357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/furiosity/pseuds/furiosity
Summary: After a season in hell, Katsuki Yuuri starts making his way back up.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BonesOfBirdWings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BonesOfBirdWings/gifts).



> Happy holidays! I wrote this as a treat; I hope you enjoy it. ♥

Yuuri sat across the dinner table from his idol for the seventh time and wondered if he would ever get used to this. Was he even allowed to think about getting used to it? 

Viktor, oblivious to all but his white stew and rice, looked like he had just stepped out of a magazine cover. Even in a plain hanten with his hair in disarray, he was otherworldly-elegant, a blessing brought in on an angel's wing.

Viktor reached for the tissue box, and Yuuri noticed a fleeting wince flash across his brow.

"Are you all right?" Yuuri asked. Was the tissue box too far? Who had handled it last?

"What? Why do you ask, Yuuri?"

Viktor seemed to relish every opportunity to use Yuuri's given name; it was unsettling in a complicated way. "You looked like you were in pain just now."

Viktor smiled. "Oh, a little twinge, that's all. From all the travelling, no doubt."

"Don't say it's nothing!" Yuuri's mom chimed in, setting her chopsticks down. "You shouldn't neglect any aches you feel: you're a skater. Yuuri, give him a massage."

Yuuri wanted to die.

Viktor perked up. "I didn't know that was a service you offered at Yu-topia Akatsuki." 

"Oh, it isn't, Yuuri's just good at giving massages."

-

Viktor's room had too much luggage piled on every available bit of floor space, so Yuuri took him to a vacant guest room. There was a chill in the air: the heater was just getting going.

Viktor sniffed the air with interest as he walked inside. "Is that a portable stove?" He crouched down next to the heater. "Sure takes me back. Why does it smell like chemicals? Where do you put the wood?"

"It's kerosene," Yuuri explained. "Cheaper than using an electric heater. Do they use wood stoves in Russia?"

"Some places," Viktor said. "So where do you want me, Yuuri? Are you really going to give me a massage or did you just want some after-dinner alone time for the two of us?"

Yuuri blushed. "There you go again with your jokes, Viktor. Please strip down to the waist and rest your chest on that beanbag chair." He pointed. "There's an electric blanket under the towel, so you won't be cold."

"My nipples thank you," Viktor deadpanned, and Yuuri blushed again. Were Russians in general so overly-familiar, or did Viktor just enjoy teasing him that much?

Yuuri submerged his hands in the bucket of hot onsen water he'd brought in, kept them there until it no longer stung, and dried them thoroughly. Now his hands would be warm, even though the rest of him was frozen in terror of _actually_ being about to touch Viktor Nikiforov's bare skin. He really should have taken Phichit up on those lessons. One didn't have to take any clothes off for a Thai massage.

Viktor shrugged out of the hanten and folded it next to the beanbag chair. His skin was as flawless as Yuuri had always imagined, smooth and pale with just a remnant of a summer tan. Where did Viktor spend his summers? What did he like to do when not training? Yuuri had always seen him as a figure skater -- until last week, he'd only known PR-approved facts about Viktor. He'd had no idea that Viktor got excited over new-to-him food and loved weirdly shaped buildings. He didn't know anything about Viktor.

"I'm all yours, Yuuri." Viktor was seated on the floor, his legs around the beanbag chair, his arms resting on top of it. He turned his head to the side and watched Yuuri from underneath his bangs, still messy.

Yuuri's heart skipped and he tried not to not be obvious about his deep, resolve-steadying intake of breath as he knelt behind Viktor. "Please don't turn your head to the side like that. Keep your neck neutral."

"Yes, sir," Viktor purred, obeying, and Yuuri's insides began to liquefy even as he placed one hand on Viktor's shoulder. His skin was cool and exactly as soft as it looked.

"Mmm, that's nice," Viktor sighed. "That's the spot."

Yuuri rolled his eyes. "I haven't even started yet." _Did I just roll my eyes at Viktor Nikiforov? I'm the worst. I mustn't get too comfortable around him._ He pressed the tips of his fingers against Viktor's spine and started rubbing in small circles, moving upwards, hunting for the spot that had made Viktor wince.

Just as he found it -- a tiny rough-feeling spot -- Viktor made a pleased little sound that woke a need in Yuuri to hear it again and again. He worked at the spot with his thumb until it loosened, then went back to a lighter touch with his fingertips, but Viktor made no more sweet sounds, just sighed contentedly a couple of times. Yuuri's cheeks burned. The heater must have really gotten going.

Viktor reached back with one hand and rested it on top of Yuuri's hand, the one he was using to steady Viktor's shoulder. "I love your hands, Yuuri."

"Um," Yuuri said in a strangled voice. "Please don't move yet; I'm not finished."

Viktor sighed. "Okaay." His hand slid off Yuuri's slowly, like a caress.

All of this was doing things to Yuuri's composure -- the feel of Viktor's skin under his fingertips, the languid heat of the room, the way Viktor's voice shaped his name, rolling the R even though English didn't have that sound. Yuuri's fingertips moved mechanically against the rough spot by Viktor's shoulder blade, feeling it dissolve. Soon, he could leave. Soon--

Viktor moaned softly, and Yuuri's hand on his shoulder clenched, too hard. He yanked it away in horror. "I'm sorry! Did I hurt you?"

"Hurt me?" Viktor's head was turned, but Yuuri could tell he was smiling. "Not at all--"

"Thank goodness!" Yuuri said in a high-pitched voice. "Well, that's about all I can do, I know it's not much, but I hope it helps a little!" He scooted away from Viktor, as far back as he could. Really, what had he been _thinking_?

The door to the room slid open. "You about done, Yuuri? I brought us some black tea and cakes. They drink black tea in Russia, don't they, Viktor?"

Viktor's eyes sparkled as he put the hanten back on. "Yes! What kind of cakes?"

"I shouldn't be eating cakes," Yuuri mumbled. Half of him was furious with Mom for interrupting, but the other half couldn't have been more grateful. He couldn't afford to give in to temptation. Viktor was close to a god. The likes of Yuuri had no right to think of him in any other terms or go around touching him like it was no big deal. Did he?

He slid the door shut on Viktor regaling his mother with the details of Russian tea time customs and shuffled to his bedroom, exhausted. He fell asleep almost immediately, clothes and all, the sensation of Viktor's skin still lingering inside his palms and fingertips.

-

He woke before dawn and pawed the nightstand for his glasses. It was cool in the room -- the unusual cold snap was continuing. The message light on his phone blinked steadily.

It was a LINE chat from Viktor. "Thanks for last night." Then a sticker of James blowing a kiss.

To the half-asleep Yuuri, the message looked like one from a lover. He shouldn't have even dared to think of Viktor in those terms, but here he was, thinking it. Thinking about how touching Viktor's bare skin made his stomach flip-flop, how Viktor's voice made his heart quiver.

Things were changing. _Yuuri_ was starting to change. Maybe it was best he let it happen and not spend so much time trying to force himself back into a shell he had outgrown.

Putting his complicated feelings aside, after the year he'd had, the only way to go was up. If anyone could take him there, it was Viktor Nikiforov. Even if he couldn't stand on the same stage as his idol, surely Yuuri could do his best to make his idol into a proud coach. 

All other things would fall into place with time.


End file.
